


Hades

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: The USA surrendered in late 1945; a few months later things have begun to settle down.John is faced with the question whether to abandon or continue his military career under the occupation.





	Hades

**Author's Note:**

> This will be focussing heavily on John's involvement in the genocide in America, as implied in 1x06 Three Monkeys by Rudolph Wegener. It is told from a perpetrator POV, which also means that apart from actual murder there will be references to antisemitism and other aspects of nazi ideology. The general idea is that after the occupation of the USA the exact same mechanisms as in Eastern Europe are put into motion. I guess you know enough about the Holocaust to understand what that implies.
> 
> The first chapter follows John enlistment in the SS and subsequent deployment to an Einsatzgruppe in the Rust Belt. 
> 
> Originally this story was supposed to take place exclusively in Cincinnati (which following a general (?) fandom consensus I interpret as an Northern American version of Auschwitz) but I felt that would have needed too much explanation of what happened beforehand, so I started a bit earlier. Atm I'm planning to center the next chapter around John's relationship with Rudy, so this will become more shippy/nazisploitative as events progress. I will add more warnings in the respective chapter summaries. [Edit July 18th: I have to put this on ice for the time being; I simply don't have the time to finish this atm, and I can't have it taking up space in my brain. Since it works as a stand-alone too, I guess it's no catastrophe. We'll see, if and when inspiration strikes again, I guess eventually I'll come back to this fic with fresh motivation.]
> 
> But essentially if this doesn't sound like your cup of tea, please, don't read it. Thanks.

Change can be simple enough if you let it. All you have to do is allow it to happen without putting up a fight. Don't try to stop the course of events. Don't try to hold on to the present as it's becoming the past. Just let go when the time comes. 

You fold up your things, put them into a box. A flag. A uniform. Even a life if need be. And then you move on.

His hand rests heavy on the card board after he closed the lid, reluctant to take the next step: pick up the box, put it up on the shelf. But somehow he's not ready yet. It's not every day you draw this final line. 

John used to see himself as a practical man, not someone prone to sentimentality, not at all, but there are times when even the most sober-minded may feel a pang of nostalgia. And when if not now should he be allowed a moment to reflect on how quickly the country he was born in has become history. 

The stroke of a pen, that was all it took in the end. 

John feels he should be angry or sad, not in a strange sense relieved, but at this point he is just that. The war is finally over.

And perhaps Helen is right when she says this defeat might only be the dawn of a bright new future. That there is no reason to grieve for what has been lost and that instead they should look forward to new possibilities. Sometimes when a house is too rotten, you tear it down rather than trying to fix it. 

Helen wasn't so prosaic. There's too much pathos going around not to be infected by it. 

What she said was: And from the ashes we shall rise. 

Oh Helen. She is his guide in these dark times, ever so strong, ever so certain about right and wrong. Where he falters, she remains steady like a rock in the roaring sea. He imagines her as she came home late last night from her women's league meeting, brimming with fervour, her cheeks flushed, her eyes gleaming just like the brand-new party badge on her chest. She heard the Führer speak on the radio, she said, kissing John on the lips with more passion than she's shown him in a while. 

“And,” she continues after the kiss, “Dr. Goebbels too, and what a brilliant orator he is! You should have heard him, John. He was marvellous.”

All will be good, that's what they promise. Helen believes them. And if Helen believes them, maybe he can too? 

John lets his gaze wander to the window. Outside the sun shines from a cloudless sky. Where only too recently stars and stripes were fluttering hopefully over the lawn now the swastika is flapping in the wind, red and black and white.

With a sigh he withdraws his hand from the top of the box. Its contents are already history. Time moves on and the world won't wait for him to catch up.

__

Some are more eager than others for this new beginning. 

Many of their fellow citizens find new hope in the changes as they're occurring. They are appeased by food packages, the promise of jobs, free entertainment or even fascinated by the marches and parades, the uniforms and flags. Others however leave their houses over night, disappear as if fallen from the face of the earth, taking only with them what they can carry. They flee south, people speculate, to Mexico or further down. A few might have gone to join the resistance still fighting in the west. 

Joining the resistance hasn't been an option for John. He laid down arms when he was told to, ordered his subordinates to do the same, that's how the chain of command works, and he hasn't looked back since. Once a war is lost, you gotta stop fighting. That's what soldiers do, no matter their personal preferences. You can't pick and choose. 

The Germans appear to understand that. They don't look down on them as much as they possibly could (they're undeniably arrogant, but more out of pity than maliciousness it seems) and they treat them well enough, not so much as subjects rather than possible allies, and that's some comfort.

It does help that they seem to send only their prettiest soldiers, tall and handsome men with sharp hair-cuts and snappy uniforms, their boots always immaculately polished. (And not just because the depression of the last years has brought forth a sheer endless supply of shoe shiners.)

“Imagine how good you would look in such a uniform,” Helen says one day, not long after the surrender. And then, when he doesn't respond. “They are hiring, you know.”

They haven't spoken much about the future. Not _their_ future that is. They talked a lot about the future of the country, the race, Volk und Vaterland. That's unavoidable these days. But they haven't talked about their place in that new order, where they imagine themselves to be five years from now, or ten or fifteen. How they want to raise their children. Where the money will come from once their scarce savings are used up.

There's not doubt they'll be getting by. There are jobs and there will be more. There's a lot to rebuild and the Reich will bring new business opportunities, new factories, new companies. But John used to be a soldier, that's whom Helen married, not some clerk or construction worker, sales man or shop assistant. She likes a man in uniform, the medals and awards, the fact he's part of a greater idea. Now he is nothing, nobody. Just John Smith. 

And he sees the disappointment in her eyes, feels her lack of passion in the bedroom, as if, without his gun and his rank, he's suddenly only half a man. 

The leaflet has been lying on the kitchen table for less than a week when he makes his decision. 

__

He passes every test with flying colours. All but the German exam. 

“Ich lerne noch,” he says to the man who takes care of the last paperwork; he stumbles over the damn CHs, and the SS officer gives him an amused smile. 

“Das wird schon, Kamerad. Deutsch ist nicht so einfach,” he says jovially and continues the interview in excellent English. 

John's ancestry is satisfactory. He doesn't score 'deutschblütig' of course, but 'artverwandt' is close enough, and their review of his wife is raving. Not just her genealogy, also the fact she's a party member, involved in activities of the NS women's league and volunteering in the new-founded American sister organisation of the BDM, working towards the education of girls. She's a promising new member of the Reich, they declare, just the kind of women they're looking for in the American Reichskommissariat. 

The interviewer goes so far as to congratulate John on his good catch, which is strange for a job interview. It's more than unusual to put so much emphasis on his marital status and spouse but John supposes that's how things are done now. That's what is important.

In the end they still don't give him the rank that would have been appropriate: captain translates to Hauptsturmführer but his new position of Scharführer is nowhere near that. They made him a lowly staff sergeant, and John can't tell whether it's because of his insufficient language skills or simply because they don't trust him. And he can't blame them for their suspiciousness. Only recently his country was defeated by the enemy, they live under occupation now, and yet he's already lining up to serve the new regime. Who wouldn't be wary? No matter how many political reasons he can give them for his decision (and he can give them a lot, his preparations for this have been thorough) the notion of treason still sticks to him like a bad aftertaste. 

He tries his best not to show his disappointment when they tell him about the demotion and just sits through the rest of the interview with an impassive expression but the officer picks up on it nonetheless. 

“See it as a period of probation,” he says. “The transition isn't easy for any of us but as soon as you've proven your loyalty to the Reich and things have settled down, I'm sure we can find a more suitable position for you.”

He gets up and reaches out to shake John's hand. “Willkommen in der SS, Scharführer Smith.”

__

They send him out west, to Pennsylvania. He would rather have stayed closer to Helen and baby Thomas but orders are orders and he has to go where he is needed. They assign him to Einsatzgruppe II, a task force subordinate to the RSHA, supposed to tidy up behind the still advancing troops. Secure the area. John knows better than to ask questions about what exactly this means.

His new comrades of Einsatzkommando 4 are pleasant enough. The unit is half German, half American, and they get on reasonably well with each other, contrary to expectations. It's largely the merit of their commanding officer. Sturmbannführer Werner Schäfer is good at quelling animosities. His men respect him, admire him even. Judging from the stories the Germans tell about his accomplishments at the eastern front he's tough as nails. He is also fair and level-headed and even jolly sometimes. John can't complain. 

“This will be a walk in the park,” Schäfer says when first greeting the new recruits and, well, to a certain point it is. 

Pennsylvania isn't Russia. The weather is mild and supplies are not an issue. They're not involved in combat operations either. Mostly they are rounding up undesirables in the Pittsburgh area. At first the come quietly. They show up at the designated time and place, with bag and baggage, ready to be shipped god-knows-where, and it falls to the Americans to answer their questions and allay their fears. 

“Don't you worry,” they say, “It's just a relocation.” 

And in the beginning they believe it.

“Where are we going?” they ask before they get onto the trucks and buses. 

That's when he first notices the new, ominous quality of the name. 

_Cincinnati._

__

He kills his first man not long after that. (He killed men before of course, but not in cold blood, not as an execution.) It's a drizzly day in late spring and people have become nervous. Perhaps one of the other Einsatzkommandos acted out of line or perhaps they are beginning to suspect what's in store for them. Whatever the reason, there's a commotion and Sturmbannführer Schäfer doesn't hesitate for a second; he has the ringleaders shoved to their knees and gives the order. Half of his comrades don't bat an eye, and it's not the American half. 

That's when John comprehends the scope of it all – they've done this before, in Eastern Europe, not just once but often. This is what they do, the Einsatzgruppen. They get rid of the Jews. The propaganda and speeches, the laws and proclamations, now they all click into place to reveal the bigger picture, and if John is honest, he can't say he's truly surprised. It's just an argument thought through to the end, the logical conclusion. How very German, John thinks, chilled to the bone.

He looks at the nape of the man before him, at the hair in his neck, how he shakes and shivers. He tries not to, but everybody's resolve cracks in the face of death. John knows, he can't change his fate, he can't save him, he can only make it quick.

He places the barrel of his gun carefully on the right spot, just where the skull dips into the neck. His finger curls around the trigger. Then the sound of gunfire, the blowback, a spatter of something warm (Blood? Brain matter?) and the body slumps into the mud, lifeless, next to another, next to another. 

John is feeling dizzy. In the background people are sobbing. He wants to wipe his hand against his uniform jacket. He wants a drink and a cigarette and bury his face in Helen's lap. But this isn't over. 

“Another round,” Schäfer says and the next victims are shoved to the front.

He gets his cigarette later, when they shot them all, 788 Semites, row after row of them, not just the men, but also women and children. His commander slaps him on the back, just when John, ashen-faced, finally managed to light one up with trembling fingers. Schäfer hands him a flask. 

“Have a drink, Scharführer,” he says and at John's hesitance adds: “It's always hard the first time, don't worry, you'll get used to it. I know it's not a pleasant job but someone has to do it, right? For the future of the Reich...”

“The future of the Reich,” John echoes hollow, raising the flask. 

The Sturmbannführer smiles encouragingly and John takes a generous gulp. 

“Gute Arbeit,” Schäfer says before he moves on.

__

“We're laying the ground for the future,” he will write to Helen later. “We're laying the ground for a future without war, without hardship and misery, a future in which there won't be any great depressions anymore, no more stock market crashes and financial crises. It's only this prospect that allows me to face my duties, day after day, the knowledge that we have to be merciless and thorough in eradicating this threat once and for all, so our children will be able to live in peace and prosperity.”

__


End file.
